The Things They Carried
by wannabewriter07
Summary: A shared adversary brings the old team back together to solve a case, causing one or more them to fall into peril. GSR mostly, some other ships in later chapters. Different from my other stuff. Trying something new.
1. Chapter 1

**Still working on my other fanfics, but this came into my mind and I wanted to try to write it and see where it went. It's my first attempt at a GSR story. Kind of angsty and dramatic. I'll throw in some Morganders too, of course. I'll see where this goes as I try to unravel it from my thinking. Let me know what you think.**

The metal feels cold against my sweating palm. It couldn't measure more than five pounds, but the weight of the gun grounds me to the floor. As I land on my knees, the last forty eight hours replays through my head. Hard to imagine that just two days before I was nothing more than a simple man trying to maintain a simple life, the stains of my past almost faded from my soul. But two days ago, she was safe. Two days ago, there was time. And two minutes ago, there was hope. My mind is racing, and my control is as shaky as my hands are now. As blood pools around me, I look into the eyes of the only person who knows where she is, receiving nothing but a lifeless stare in return.

 **Two Days Earlier…**

Sara Sidle sat on the bench in the empty locker room, breathing deeply. Her shift had just ended, and the exhaustion radiated throughout her whole body. Despite her desperate need for sleep, she knew she wouldn't get any. Not today. Not since the day the date of her wedding anniversary stopped being something to celebrate. She was almost tempted to ask to work overtime, just to keep her mind busy and her heart distracted.

A knock coming from the doorway broke her thoughts as she turned to see Hodges standing at the entrance.

"Hey," he said awkwardly shifting his gaze.

"Can I help you Hodges?" she asked.

"Sorry to bother you, Sara, but there's a package for you at the front desk. Just thought you might want to know before you leave," he told her.

"Thanks I appreciate it." She sent the lab tech a sad half smile, all that she could muster at the moment. Hodges nodded, giving his own tightlipped smile before clumsily making his escape.

Alone again, Sara sighed, stood up, and shut her locker. She made her way to the front desk and greeted the receptionist on duty. The package came in a medium sized box. Handle with care was handwritten on the top of the box, but there was no return address or anything else to indicate where it came from.

"Hey Maggie," she asked the receptionist, "did you happen to see who dropped this off?" The woman behind the desk shook her head as she continued her conversation on the phone. With caution, Sara picked up the package, carrying it to her office.

She set it on her desk and reached for a box cutter, her stomach flipping with sudden anxiety. She hesitated briefly and then before she could think better of it, she cut the tape off the opening of the box.

The sight of what laid inside made her blood run cold and her jaw drop.

"No, it can't be." She tried to steady her breathing, to remember to continue to breathe. She reached for her cellphone and dialed a number she hadn't used in the past two years. Why today of all days?

"Gil," she said when he picked up. "It's me. I'm calling because…" She stared numbly into the box. "I need your help. It's starting again."


	2. Chapter 2

**Two Years Earlier…**

"You've been hard to get a hold of." The familiarity of his voice calmed her and cut her at the same time.

"Yeah, I'm so sorry," she said. "How are you?"

"I'm okay. Is now a good time?" She hesitated before answering. She pictured him leaning back in his chair as he spoke, a concerned expression crossing his stubbled face.

"Yeah, now is good. Gil, what's going on?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing. Sara, you don't return my calls. You seem distracted when we do talk. And I can't help but think that it has to do with-" She stopped him, redirecting the conversation.

"No. It doesn't. I've just been lonely is all. And usually after we talk, I notice how quiet things are and how empty your side of the bed feels. I miss you too much I guess."

"Sara, I miss you too, but we have to face reality. I'm not coming back to Vegas, not permanently and not any time soon."

"I know that, and you know that I can't drop everything and fly to Peru at a moment's notice." A moment of silence spread between them.

"A great author once said 'Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live, it is asking others to live as one wishes to live' "

"Oscar Wilde," she smiled. Even though they were on different continents, she could still feel that connection.

"Correct. Look, Sara, I don't want to be selfish and I don't want to put you in a position to be selfish either. After everything that has happened this year, maybe it's time we consider living as we wish to without having to worry about hurting one another."

"Gris, what are you saying?"

"Marriage doesn't work at a distance. Romance shouldn't be something you put on hold and neither should your life be, waiting for someone who will always be far away."

"Are you saying you want a divorce?" It was the question she had been dreading, and yet there it was, now out in the open waiting to be addressed.

"Maybe a trial separation for now. I know you, Sara. I know how you are when you are sad. I know how you isolate yourself. I don't want to be the excuse that causes that desperation. I want you to be able to be happy. To find something, even someone who can be there for you. That can take your mind off of…"

"I know you too, Gil. I know that you will always play the martyr. And you're right, marriage and martyr don't mix. Why can't you just admit that you are hurting too? Don't act like it is all about me and what I need." She took a breath. "Just know this. If we do this, if you do this, I won't be waiting for you. Not again."

 **Two Days Earlier…**

Russell and Greg flanked her on either side studying the miniature replica laying out a crime that hopefully had not yet occurred.

"The detail is remarkable. But it has to be a copycat or an accomplice. Didn't you say the miniature killer committed suicide a few years back?" Russell said. He snapped some pictures of the model at varying angles.

"Yeah, she did. Grissom sat in on the autopsy. Asphyxiation. She hung herself," Sara said surveying the small scaled scene. It was familiar. Too familiar.

"Well, it looks like we are looking for a woman, a brunette. Someone ill or injured maybe, the body…doll…seems to be in a hospital bed, but the room doesn't look like exactly like a hospital room. Maybe someone on hospice, the victim looks young for a nursing home," Greg said.

Sara leaned over the model, using tweezers to pick up a small item on the tiny nightstand. She knew what it was immediately. She remembered creating it years ago, a childish makeshift gift for mother's day at a time in her life when she felt she still had one.

The room felt like it was spinning. She sank into the chair behind her, still clutching the minuscule thing in her gloved hand. "It's my mother."

Greg and Russell looked at her.

"The victim is my mother. That's why it was sent to me." She reached for her phone. Quickly, she dialed.

She stepped out of the room waiting for someone to answer. "Hello, I was wondering if someone could tell me what Laura Sidle's status is this morning. I'm her daughter."

"Ms. Sidle, we were going to call you. Let me get a doctor," came the voice from the receiver.

"No, wait. Just tell me. What's going on?" She closed her eyes, bracing for what she already knew was coming.

"Your mother, she passed away this morning."


	3. Chapter 3

**Three Years Earlier…**

The candlelight set the atmosphere in the small yet crowded restaurant. He sat across from her, studying the curve of her smile, the shine of her eyes, the way her fingers nervously ran along her water glass. God, how he had missed her. How long had it been? A month? Maybe more?

The waiter approached them offering wine. He waited as his glass was poured. She brushed off the offer as the waiter left them alone again.

"No wine tonight? However will I seduce you, Mrs. Grissom?" he teased. Her eyes fluttered almost mischievously as her smile grew.

"I'm sure you'll find a way." She drew the glass of water to her lips, watching him. There was something on her mind. And from the look of her uncontrollable grin, it was something worth hearing about.

He raised his wine glass to her water. "To another year." The clink silenced them for a moment as they both sipped on their drinks. "We have a lot to celebrate. Three years married now. Seven years together and still going strong." He smiled as he took her hand in his.

She looked down at the gesture and then back to his eyes. "We have more to celebrate than you think."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm pregnant, Gil."

 **Two Days Earlier…**

"Sara." His touch brought her out of her trance as she sat outside the autopsy room, awaiting Doc Robbins' results. "How are you doing?"

She looked at him. It had only been two years, but the time showed in his appearance. His dark grey beard was becoming lighter, speckles of white edging along his face. The lines at the corners of his eyes were more distinct, maybe even sadder. Looking at him made her wonder what changes he saw when he looked at her.

"Gil, you came." She smiled as he sat beside her.

"Of course I did. Sara, I'm so sorry." She watched him place his hand on her thigh and then slowly remove it as he thought better of the action.

"I have thought about this moment for so long now, it almost seems hollow. She and I never had a mother daughter bond. It was more of an obligation, on my side at least." She paused staring ahead, making no eye contact. "If it had happened without the prospect of murder, I would have made the arrangements and moved on with my life. But this…this was deliberate, this was cruel, sadistic even. Even my mother didn't deserve this, despite everything. She was ill…That's the worst part. This was aimed at me. This was a message for me, at her expense."

"Sara," his voice was calm, so close and yet so distance. "Do you have any idea who would want to hurt you like this?"

"I have no idea. You would probably have a better idea than I would. You are an expert on the subject." She turned to him now, seeing the pain inflicted on his expression.

"Sara, I never meant to hurt you. We need to-" The door to the autopsy room opened sending a blast of cool air in their direction. Morgan stepped out, pulling the lab coat around her rounding middle. She laid a comforting hand on Sara's shoulder.

"Sara, I'm so sorry. If you need anything, please-"

"What was the COD?" Sara deflected her sympathy. Morgan gaze shot from Sara's to Grissom's. He extended his hand reaching around Sara.

"Gil Grissom," he said.

"Morgan Brody," she said shaking his hand. "So, you're Grissom. I've heard a lot about you." Grissom glanced briefly at Sara as Morgan clarified her statement. "From my dad, Conrad Ecklie, and Greg, of course. All good I assure you." She gave a nervous smile.

"Morgan is a CSI on the night shift with me. She and Greg are a couple." Sara said nodding toward Morgan's pregnant belly.

"Oh," Grissom was taken back. "Congratulations. How far along are you?"

"Five months, a little boy due in September. Greg's ecstatic." She rubbed her bump, stopping as she noticed a shift in Sara's gaze from her to the floor and Grissom's from her to Sara. "I'm sorry, Sara. You asked about the COD. It was an overdose, or made to look like one. They found an empty bottle of pills on her bed, but that was a cover. There was an injection mark underneath her arm where we think the drug was fed to her." She opened her mouth to say more but quickly closed it as Sara stood to leave.

"Thank you, Morgan," Sara attempted a smile to hide the anger behind her gritted teeth. She walked from the hall to the adjacent corridor leaving both of them behind.

Grissom caught up with her gently pulling on her arm. She stopped walking, shaking him off.

"Sara, I know you are hurting, but you need to let it out. Talk about it. Do something or it will eat away at you." He stood in front of her, forcing her to face him.

"Don't talk like you know me. You lost that privilege years ago. And though it's none of your business, I actually have a therapist I see on a regular basis. I moved past it and I will move past this too, but not until I catch who is responsible," she spat.

"Sara, you called me, remember? I came here for you. You can't do this on your own. I'm here to help."

She sighed. "I know, Gil. I'm sorry. It just…one person can only bare some much loss in a lifetime." She paused. "I need to go home. It's been twenty four hours now since I last slept. I should go and at least try to rest."

"I'm going with you. You don't need to be alone right now. Especially if you are being targeted."

"There is already a police surveillance team set up outside my house. I'll be fine." She started to move.

"I'm still going with you." He walked beside her. She looked at him. "For my own safety. I hear Vegas can be a dangerous place." She cracked a smile and nodded.

"Okay."


	4. Chapter 4

**Thirty Years Earlier…**

The arguing she was used to. The shouts, the screams, the sound of things hitting the walls, breaking. It had become the lullaby that she drifted off to sleep to, dreaming of better things than the nightmares reality could bring. But tonight, there was silence.

It had started as any other night. She had closed her bedroom door, the fighting voices vibrating off the other side. She had crawled into bed and waited for sleep to come, to take her away from the all too familiar noises. The ones that frightened her but, due to routine, had been strangely comforting. She held the stuffed rabbit in her arms, squeezing it, pressing an ear against it to muffle the sounds and calm her conflicted heart. The bunny was rubbed almost bare of fur on its belly where Sara had laid her head most nights, catching her tears that over time had turned its sweet powdery smell into a musty one.

But that night, the silence came early and sudden, beating her to sleep. It felt wrong, and before she even left the bed she felt her stomach drop, dread replacing the common fear. Quietly, she tiptoed out of the room and down the hall. She stopped at the end of the corridor as the kitchen came into view. Her mother knelt on the floor, shaking and rocking back and forth. She was smeared with something dark and red all over her, in her hair, on her hands, drenching her flimsy nightgown. Sara started towards her mother when the sight of a boot and pants leg, laying on the floor far too still, stopped her. She recognized it, and she knew what the dark puddle growing underneath the leg was too. But her mind told her she was dreaming. Her mind told her it wasn't real, it couldn't be. Her mind lied to her and told her for a moment that it was going to be okay. She just had to wake up…

 **Two Days Earlier…**

As they walked into the house, Grissom noticed how little had changed in it. The furniture held the same arrangements they did when he had called this place home. Everything seemed the same, yet something was off. The pictures were gone or replaced. The ones of their time in Costa Rica, in Peru, and of just them in general had disappeared, making the familiarity seem sterile. It spoke volumes of the pain he had unintentionally inflicted, far more than Sara would ever say.

"I'm going to lay down," she announced as she walked towards the bedroom. He nodded and watched her go. She paused as she walked by the bookshelf along the wall. Grissom saw her remove something stuck halfway out of an old photo album. A small sad smile crossed her face. It made his heart flutter, catching him off guard. He could tell himself he was over her when he was away. He could pretend she no longer had an effect over him when he had so many other things to distract him and occupy his thoughts. But here, the truth returned, the impact of it hitting harder than he expected.

Sara stared at the picture in her hands as she moved to the couch, sinking down on it. Grissom joined her, careful to keep the distance between them as he took a seat.

"It's hard to believe we ever had moments like this." Grissom looked at the photo she was grasping, a picture of her and her parents when she was a child, all of them smiling for the camera.

"What were they like?" he asked. She looked up at him.

"You know, I'm not really sure. Some days I remember them playing with me on the beach or walking the pier, laughing and being the all American family, but other days I remember the fights, the anxiety in my chest waiting for it to end." She looked past him for a moment, a far off look in her eye. "It's funny how time warps reality." He smiled at her as she returned her gaze to him. "Gil, why did you answer my call? Why did you return?"

"Sara, I care about you." He lifted a hand to brush her brunette locks behind a ear, the movement causing her to flinch.

"Trash bags." He let his hand retreat as a look of confusion etched in his brow. "That's what we used to carry our stuff from one foster home to another," Sara continued. "Like we were disposable. That's how my mother made me feel, Gil. Disposable, just like my father. When I met you, I used to think you were the best of them. The intellect and concern without the rage, without the pain. But I was wrong."

"Sara, I never meant to hurt you-"

"That's what she used to say. I didn't mean to kill him. I didn't mean to hurt you. Just spare me the apology, okay? I've had enough to last me a lifetime." She looked away, trying to blink back the tears. "I'm going to go lay down now." Without another word between them, she rose from her seat and left, slamming the bedroom door behind her.

He followed her in, sitting beside her on the bed as she laid facing away from him.

"Sara," his voice became soft,"I don't think you are disposable. I could never think that."

She turned over to look at him. "Gil, you haven't spoken to me in two years. Years. How else I am suppose to take that?"

"Do you remember the last time I was here, with you, in this room?" He searched her eyes. "I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't. You were a ghost of yourself, Sara. You had just lost the baby, and you wouldn't talk about it. You brushed me off any time I came near you. You took extra overtime at work and left me here alone, waiting. You were hurting and in despair and I couldn't help you. I couldn't…I couldn't do anything but watch you push me further away."

"Gil-"

"You kept waiting for me to save you and I couldn't. When I ended it, I heard the disappointment in your voice. It killed me, Sara. It killed me to hear you like that. I let you down, but I needed you to see it, to understand it. To realize what I already knew: there was nothing I could do. I had to let you go so you could save yourself instead of waiting for me to do it."

"You could have tried, Gil. You could have said something, reached out. You could have done more."

"You're right. I could have. I should have, but I was broken too. I just wanted to forget, to save myself. But I didn't save anything, I see that now." With one hand, he rubbed his eyes moving down to his beard. "There was never anyone else but me and my own stupidity. I want you to know that."

She sat up and took his hand from his face, holding it in hers as she laid back down. "Stay with me awhile. Just stay." He stretched out beside her on the bed, their eyes meeting until hers flickered close as she drifted off to sleep. He laid there awhile longer listening to her breathing steady. He kissed her forehead gently and then stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

The ringing stirred him from his unexpected slumber as he awoke to find the book he had been reading sliding off his chest and the sunlight from the window gone. He checked his own phone, although it was not the source of the sound, seeing that it was now well into night, the day having slipped away. Sara's phone vibrated off the coffee table, the ringing signaling urgency. He picked it up to see that Greg was calling her. Had been calling her for the last twenty minutes.

Standing he took the phone and knocked gently on the bedroom door. "Sara," he called to her,"Greg is calling you." He waited, receiving no response. Cautiously, he pushed open the door.

The bedsheets were strewn in a crumpled mess, but the bed was empty. He ventured into the bathroom, calling her name. She was nowhere to be found. He pushed the fear that came from years of working as an investigator deep into the back of his mind, not ready to contemplate the horror that this situation was starting to resemble. His pulse began to increase, instinctually preparing for the marathon it knew it was about to run. He walked the house, studying the rooms, looking for anything that seemed off. That's when he noticed the sliding door to the back porch was slightly cracked and a coffee mug laid in pieces on the concrete just outside the door, dark liquid staining the floor around the remains of the shattered cup.

The phone rang again and this time he answered.

"Sara?" came the panicked voice of the other end.

"No, this is Grissom," he answered carefully inspecting the evidence before him.

"Grissom? Is Sara there? I need to speak with her right now," Greg said, not hiding his distress.

"Greg, is there still a police car outside the house?"

"Yes, Grissom, what's going on? Where's Sara?"

Grissom closed his eyes, angry at himself for allowing her to be put in harm's way once more. "Send the police inside now. Sara's gone, Greg. I think she's been kidnapped."


	5. Chapter 5

**Ten Years Earlier…**

There was a knock on the door. She hesitated to answer it, the evidence of an empty wine bottle sitting in front of her on the coffee table. The knocking persisted until she stashed the bottle away in a kitchen cabinet and opened the door.

"Grissom!" The surprise was evident in her voice, more so than she had wanted. "What are you doing here?"

"Just checking up on you, Sara." His eyes wandered around the apartment. "I wanted to see if you were feeling better."

She had feigned sick when she realized she was a little too tipsy to go into work. The date always did it to her. The date of her father's death. She would try to push the memory out her head but it always fought back. She used alcohol as her weapon of distraction and, until then, had succeed in her plight that night.

She faked a cough. "I'm getting there." She smiled. "Come in." She stepped back and let him enter. He smiled and shifted his gaze, unsure of what to do. He took a seat on the couch and browsed through the forensic textbooks that were stacked on Sara's coffee table. She sat beside him and peered over his shoulder, making his body go rigid.

"That's a great book. I can lend it to you if you'd like. Great new insights into blood pattern analysis," she told him. Her breath felt moist on his ear and neck. It was almost more than he could handle. He turned to face her, his mouth only inches from hers. He could smell the liquor on her breath, and when she pressed her lips against his, he could taste the sweet tang of merlot. He knew he should stop it, stop her, but his body disagreed with his brain, which became weak as his blood found other places to flow to. His hands found her waist and then her soft skin as they slid up the bottom of her shirt. He felt her hands fidgeting with the buttons on his own shirt and knew he would not be turning back.

With each step to the bedroom, another article of clothing found a new temporary home on the floor. She fell back against the bed. As he lowered himself over her, his bare skin met hers. He couldn't decide what was silkier, her sheets or her ivory flesh.

The moment was carnal and celestial at the same time. Afterwards, there was silence as she laid against his chest listening to his heartbeat try to regain its natural rhythm.

"I love you," she said, not risking any movement that would break the comfort she felt lying against him.

"I know, Sara. Thank you." He said, afraid of confiding more. Scared to realize he no longer had control. Everything now belonged to her.

 **One Day Earlier…**

Grissom vomited into the kitchen sink, unable to help himself. Once the police had barged in, he realized how light headed he was feeling. Something seemed off but he couldn't put his finger on it. An EMT had arrived not long ago and was now examining him.

"Did you take any medication, sir? Any alcohol? Any recreational drugs?" the man asked him, checking his vitals. Grissom shook his head to all answers. "Sir, you appeared to have been drugged with a heavy sedative. I'm going to have to draw your blood and get you to a hospital for a full toxic screening. Do you understand?" Grissom nodded, words seeming stuck at the back of his dry mouth.

"Grissom?" Greg's familiar voice proceeded him into the kitchen. "Are you okay?"

The EMT backed away so they could talk. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be back to take you to the hospital in a few minutes," he reminded Grissom.

"Hospital?" Greg asked. "What's going on?"

"They think I've been drugged," he said finding his voice, which was still a little shaky. "What have you found out about Sara?"

Greg looked at him, the darkness of the room and his eyes unable to hide the fear behind them. "We received a note, right before I tried to call Sara." He handed Grissom a plastic bag with a piece of paper inside of it. Crisp cut letters from a glossy magazine had been fitted to the page to spell out the following message: _Don't be idle, or it will be the end of Sidle_. Grissom looked up at Greg, anger and fear fighting for his current emotional state.

"We ran the prints on the paper. The only fingerprints were on the cut out letters and all of those come back as Laura and Sara Sidle," Greg continued explaining. "We thought there might be a connection with the mental institution Sara's mother was staying in, and we found one." He hesitated. "A prisoner was transferred there about six months ago, one that had a personal vendetta against Sara. He had set her up for a murder charge a few years back, and yesterday by some supposed technical glitch, he was released. A lot of it adds up, but I think he might have an accomplice."

Grissom stared at him trying to process everything he had just told him. "Sara was framed for murder?" He begin to realize how far apart he and Sara had really grown in the course of two years. "I had no idea."

"Grissom, this guy is dangerous. If he is the one who has Sara, he wouldn't think twice about killing her." Greg's solomon expression darkened more. "But I think there might be someone else running this show. Basderic, the one framed Sara. I don't think he would put on this detailed of an act, especially with the miniature scene and the note. Something about it just doesn't sit right. My fear is that we are looking for someone who might want to do something worse to Sara than just kill her."


	6. Chapter 6

**Three Years Earlier…**

Sara turned off the shower and reached for her towel. As she dried the water off her body, she couldn't help but smile, her hand lingering on her small belly that was beginning to distend. Her first trimester was coming to an end. Thanks to the ultrasound technician who liked to over share more than was probably allowed, she also knew she was having a girl.

"I'm not really supposed to say anything until the next appointment, but if I were you, I would start buying everything in pink. Congratulations," the technician winked, holding a finger to her smile to signify that this was their little secret. Sara's grin grew at the memory. She hadn't told Gil the news yet. He was coming into town next week and she wanted to see his expression when he found out. The joy and elation that never could quite reach his words. She imagined it, picturing the way his eyes would light up. He had already been talking about the children's science books he had found and how he thought a bug mobile over the crib wouldn't be as grotesque as it sounded.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice the wet sheen on the floor where she had forgotten to replace the bath mat. She felt it though as she fell face first onto the tile, twisting her wrist as she tried to brace her weight against it.

At the hospital, the silence on the monitor confirmed what she already knew, the absence of life in her womb. There was no movement, no tickle, just stillness until a few days later when the cramping began.

 **One Day Earlier…**

Sara's head was hazy and her vision blurry, unable to distinguish one shadow from another in the darkness that surrounded her. She blinked a few more times. Each time allowed her to get a better sense of the dark room where she sat. Her weak muscles fought her as she pushed against the restraints that held her in place.

"Hello?" she called out, only afterwards realizing it was probably not the smartest of moves.

"Sara. It's been awhile, hasn't it?" a familiar female voice rang out behind her. "I'm sorry about your mother. I know that must have been hard, considering the way you lost your father, but if is any consolation, she didn't suffer. It was a peaceful death. One she was ready for." The voice was calm and collected. She knew she recognized it, but her brain just couldn't function properly.

"I've done some research on you, Sara. We have a lot in common. More so now that we are both orphans." The voice was closer now. Sara's thoughts were becoming clearer, as if a veil was being lifted.

"Hannah?" she said, sounding scratchy.

"Do you know what today is, Sara? My brother died eight years ago today. Eight years of being alone. Eight years more of feeling like an sideshow. I can imagine you have some idea of how it feels to be lonely. I heard your husband left you. See another commonality, being left behind." Hannah West's voice was right behind her now.

"What do you want from me?" Sara said, gaining some strength.

"I want you to know how it feels to have everyone turn against you. I want you to know how it feels to be all alone."

"I didn't kill him, Hannah. He took his own life."

"I'm a psychiatrist now. I know how easy it can be to persuade someone to do something they wouldn't consider on their own. And you, Sara, can be very convincing. Your methods just didn't work on me."

"You aren't being rational. Where's the logic, Hannah? Why would I do that?"

"You are all about justice, aren't you? Well you will get it now, just like you deserve. Do you remember how you told me? Walking away as if I wasn't worth the time of day? And that picture?" Hannah's voice was now right at her back of her ear. "An eye for an eye. That's what you believe in, isn't it?"

Sara's breathing was becoming shallower. "What are you going to do?" she managed to say, gathering air in her lungs.

"I've given them all the clues they need. It should lead them right to you, giving you a front row seat to their demise. Your friends, the ones you love the most, you will get to watch them die. I say that's a step up from a picture, wouldn't you?"

"You…won't…get…away…with this," Sara sputtered. The air was becoming heavier, thick with some unknown gas. The sound of someone breathing through a gas mask was behind her, Hannah's voice was a short distance from it, still in Sara's ear.

"I don't plan to. I have a brain tumor. I'm dying, Sara. This is all I have left to leave behind. This is my magnum opus. You'll finally…what do they say? 'Get your guy.' But it comes with a cost. You know the old saying, Sara. The third time's a charm."

 **Thanks for the reviews.** **stlouiegal, you caught on to where I was going. Thanks for reading.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Six Years Earlier…**

The first dead body Gil Grissom could remember seeing was his father's. He was nine, engrossed in a Roy Rogers rerun, stretched out on the floor with his face just inches from the black and white screen. He had heard his father come in to the living room and his mother's call to them from the kitchen, turning his attention to neither of them. It was his mother's shrilled panicked shouts that brought him out of his trance just a few minutes later. He turned to see his father slumped over on the couch, his mother shaking him violently by the shoulder. The memory haunted him at times but not because of the horror of it all. It was the surrealism of the moment that stuck with him all these many years later. The still and pale way his father looked but how he still looked like his father, merely sleeping.

The only other death he could recall striking him as hard had happened only months earlier as he held Warrick in his arms watching the life drain from him. It held the same dreamlike feel as the loss of his father. The man and the body no longer connected, but still indistinguishable from each other. How could someone be there one minute and gone the next? How could they have been laughing over breakfast only half an hour before and now would never speak again?

Sitting at his desk, he pondered the lives lost he had spent his career trying to rectify, knowing that to the deceased it wouldn't matter. The damage had been done. No amount of paperwork or police tape could repair it. The peace of mind was for the living. Not all lost from him was gone forever though. There was still hope, and time was never a promise. He understood that better now. That's why he hit sent on the email, giving his resignation to Ecklie. She was out there, still alive, waiting. He still had time to make things right.

 **Twelve Hours Earlier…**

Greg walked into the layout room, surprised to find Nick and Catherine deep in discussion with Russell and Morgan. He laid the manilla folder he was carrying on the table.

"Catherine…Nick…what are you doing here? Did I miss something?" he asked, the grim expressions on everyone's faces answering his last question with a unmistakable silent yes.

"Sara's kidnapper contacted them too. Leaving these." Morgan pointed to the evidence bags containing messages just like the one the crime lab had received only hours before, with the same type of cut out magazine letters arranged to create the words.

Russell motioned to the bag on the left by Nick. "Nick received this around the time we received ours." Greg looked down at the paper and read what it said:

 _Sidle sleeps,_

 _But time doesn't keep._

 _Don't wait,_

 _Or death will be her fate._

"And Catherine was given this just an hour after we found out Sara was missing," Russell continued, pointing to the other evidence bag by Catherine. Its message read:

 _The past can haunt,_

 _The memory can taunt._

 _But be vigilant,_

 _The end will be brilliant._

Greg moved his eye sight to match those of his colleagues and friends as they watched his reaction. "What do any of these mean?"

"We don't know yet," Catherine chimed in. "But the implications are not good. We know there is an unknown time frame with Sara's death being at the end of the deadline. What we don't know is who is doing this and why? Or where Sara is?"

"Well, I might be able to narrow down the who. I just got back from the psychiatric unit where Sara's mother and Basderic were being kept. I looked through the list of staff in contact with both patients and found a familiar name." He took a paper from the file folder he'd brought it. "Hannah West. She's a resident psychiatrist there, working with a number of patients. The two she spend the most time with though are our victim and other suspect."

Nick leaned his hands on the table, resting against them as anger torn through him. "How could they let her work with prisoners with her criminal background? Where were the protocols?"

"She was a minor when she was convicted. Her records were sealed. They would never know, and if anyone could successfully lie through a psychiatric evaluation, it would be her," Greg reminded him. Nick slammed the table, startling the rest of them.

"Look, now we have a name. We need to focus on deciphering the rest of this to figure out where we can find Sara before it's too late." Morgan's worried gaze met Greg's. He nodded.

"Morgan and I will look into finding Hannah," he said.

"And the rest of us will pore over the evidence," Russell agreed. "Remember people, time is of the essence."

* * *

Grissom sat on the hospital bed, waiting for the doctor to release him. The side effects of the drug had worn off completely, but the guilt remained. He was there. He could have prevented this. But, once again his human nature proved weaker than his conscious. His phone buzzed and he looked down at it to see a text from Greg. He opened it reading the latest update on the case. He gripped the phone tightly in his hands, rubbing them red with the forced friction. He had let her go before. One too many times in fact. He was determined to bring her home, once and for all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Nine Years Earlier…**

She knew expressing himself with words and emotions were never really his forte. But this was a step forward for him. He had invited her out to dinner with his mother. He gave her a sideways glance when he asked, afraid to look her in the eye, so she knew it was important to him. She agreed, eager to show her appreciation. She bought a video program through the mail that would teach her how to communicate in American Sign Language. She snuck away while he dozed the nights leading up to the big dinner date, trying to learn a few phrases that would impress.

She studied her hands comparing them to the instructor on the screen trying to emulate the motions.

"Not bad." The sound of his voice make her jump and she turned to see him standing in the doorway, a smirk crossing his face.

"It's not good either," she smiled back as he joined her on the floor in front of the television.

"You might be better than you think," he said. He took her hand in his and corrected her movements as she practiced signing. After a few minutes, he looked into her eyes. "Let's try something else. Let's see how well you read." He pointed to himself.

"I" Sara responded reading the gesture. He broaden his smile and nodded. He balled his fists and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Love." She grinned brightly. He held his hand to indicate the word "you." She pushed him backwards onto the floor with a kiss. It was the first time he had said it, but before the night would end, he would express it several more times in various ways.

 **Eleven Hours Earlier….**

"There is something off about these messages. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I can't shake the feeling that it's right in front of me." Catherine picked up one of the pages with gloved hands, scrutinizing it. She placed it under a large lighted magnifying glass and examined each letter carefully. "Wait! I see something here."

Russell and Nick moved to peer over her shoulder, anxious to see what she had found.

"Some of these letters had been pasted onto the glossy paper, while others are printed on. It's like someone used an exacto knife to cut out a few letters precisely only to glue them onto the paper to be indistinguishable from the others. Why would they do that?" Catherine continued, baffled by the mystery she had discovered.

Nick took a pair of tweezers to gently lift up the edge of one such letter. "These two letters are connected together. None of the others are like that on this page." All the letters were of varying sizes, colors, and fonts, but each piece of magazine print was reserved for a separate letter except the one he held up.

"Okay, let's go through all the messages the kidnapper sent and see if we can find any more like this. See if there is a pattern to spot. The odd ones out seem to have the same font so that should help." Russell instructed. This was the pattern they uncovered:

The message received by the lab had the following three: _Don't_ ** _Be_** _idle, or it will be the e_ ** _N_** _d of Sidle_

Nick's message had the following three: _Sidle sleeps, But time doesn't_ ** _K_** _eep. Don't wait,_ ** _O_** _r death will be her_ ** _F_** _ate._

Catherine's message contained the following three: _The past can_ ** _H_** _aunt, The memory can taunt. But be_ ** _V_** _igilant, The end will be_ ** _B_** _rilliant._

 _"_ So what are these and what do they have to do with finding Sara?" Nick asked, scribbling on a notebook.

"Maybe it's a code. Maybe we need to rearrange the letters to spell something," Russell started to move around the letters.

"It's chemistry, my dear Watson." Grissom's voice startled them all as he walked into the room. Nick and Catherine shared a hesitant look of surprise. Neither had seen or heard from Grissom since his departure years before.

"Grissom. Good to see you. What are you doing here?" Catherine said.

"Greg filled me in. The West case was very personal to Sara. I remember her telling me about Hannah. She was a chemistry major, even taught at the collegiate level. It was the root of all the cases she was involved in previously." They all stared at him in silence. "It's Sara. Of course I came," he responded, irked.

Nick nodded. "He's right. These are all elements on the periodic table. I say we research what compounds they create and see if it sparks something." Catherine arched an eyebrow at his turn of phrase, remembering the original case involving Hannah. "Sorry, poor choice of words," he apologized catching her expression.

Catherine typed the identified elements into the computer: Beryllium, Nitrogen, Potassium, Oxygen, Fluorine, Hydrogen, Vanadium, and Boron. After several minutes of searching, she and the others were becoming exasperated.

"None of these all connect except on the periodic table. Some are gases, and some are solids. Some combine with each other, and others don't. It could take hours, days even, to find the connection and something tells me we don't have that much time," Catherine said, throwing up her hands in frustration.

"Wait, maybe that's it," Nick tapped onto the keyboard and pulled up the periodic table again. "There are more than just the elements' names attached to these letters." He wrote out the atomic number for each one in the order in which they appeared.

 **4- 7- 19- 8 - 9 -1-23- 5**

They tried to decode the numbers, hoping this was the right track, but when their alphabetic counterparts didn't give any clues, they felt at a loss once more.

"Maybe it's a combination or passcode," Grissom suggested, growing weary with compounding fear as each minute passed, leaving Sara further in limbo.

"Sometimes the most obvious answer is the most logical one,"Russell said as if talking to himself as he drummed his fingers against his chin. "How many numbers are there?"

"Ten," Nick counted not seeing the connection.

Russell wrote them out again grouped together differently on a scratch piece of paper, holding them up for the team to see. "Exactly," he said," just like a phone number."

* * *

Morgan and Greg waited outside of the West residence for the police to search the place first. No one had answered the knock on the door, and Greg now feared they had reached another dead end. An officer gave them the signal to approach when all was cleared.

"So this girl graduated high school at twelve and got away with murder twice," Morgan said, "I'm not liking our odds." Greg had told her about the previous cases on the ride over, watching the worry lines deepen in her kind face as she fully began to realize what they were up against.

He grabbed her hand. "There is still time. We have to think of Sara, and…"

"Out think the child prodigy," Morgan finished his sentence, glancing up at him. They walked into the house. Much of it looked untouched as years of dust covered the common rooms of the house. Greg pushed open the door to Hannah's bedroom while Morgan explored the other rooms on the second floor.

The sight of what laid before him took his breath away. "Morgan!" he shouted. "Come look at this."


End file.
